19. Quinn #3
“That wasn’t my question,” Avery said, cocking an eyebrow.
“Helena approved it,” I said.
“Helena Wallace is not the one who looks at you like he’s trying to chew through his own self-control.”
My face heated. “Can we focus?”
“Sure.” She looked across the lot. “Target?”
I spotted Alistair Fenwick near the finish area, still wearing his race bib, hands on his hips as he talked to two other runners.
He was lean and flushed from the race, silver at his temples, finisher medal hanging crooked against his shirt.
Even standing still, he looked ready to move.
His neon-orange running shoes didn’t improve my opinion of him.
“That’s him,” I said.
Avery looked. “He’s been dodging the firm?”
“Every letter, call, and meeting request.”
“Embarrassing for him.”
“Let’s make it worse.”
We waited until the crowd thinned and Fenwick moved toward the far side of the lot, away from traffic, near a cluster of parked SUVs and a grassy median. Perfect. Public enough, but no moving cars.
I crouched beside Max and clipped the drag line to his collar.
“Okay,” I murmured.
Max looked at me. He knew something was up.
Avery stood beside us, ready.
I gave the soft release. “Frei.”
Max trotted into the lot.
Just loose enough to look unattended and purposeful enough to draw the eye. He moved toward the grassy median, sniffed, then glanced back at me for instructions exactly as he should.
I stayed behind a parked SUV, visible to Avery but not Fenwick.
Fenwick noticed him. His head turned, and his posture changed.
“Hey,” he called. “Whose dog is this?”
Max’s tail wagged as he continued toward the median.
Fenwick jogged after him, still breathing hard from the race. “Buddy. Hey. Come here.”
Max paused, allowed Fenwick to get within six feet, then trotted away.
Avery whispered, “Beautiful.”
Fenwick laughed, slightly breathless. “Come on, pal. Don’t make me work for it.”
Max gave him a polite look and moved around the back of a Subaru.
The next minute wasn’t dignified for anyone except Max.
Fenwick tried to circle left. Max went right.
Fenwick bent at the waist and reached for his collar.
Max stepped neatly over it and pranced three feet away.
A woman loading folding chairs into a trunk paused to watch.
One of the runners called, “Need help, Al?” Fenwick waved him off, still trying to look in charge while Max calmly ruined that for him.
I waited until Fenwick finally caught his collar with one hand and let out a triumphant breath.
Then I ran forward.
“Oh my god,” I called. “Thank you!”
Fenwick straightened, face flushed. “Is he yours?”
“Yes, thank you. He slipped his leash.” I reached Max and took the line, giving him the smallest hand signal. He sat at once, angelic and utterly fraudulent. “Max, you menace.”
Fenwick laughed, wiping his forehead with his wristband. “He’s faster than he looks.”
“He hears that a lot.” I looked up at him, all gratitude and harmlessness. “I’m so sorry. You’re Alistair Fenwick, right? From the Arkley Museum?”
His smile flickered. “Yes?”
I pulled the envelope from inside my jacket and placed it in his hand. “Alistair Fenwick, you’ve been served.”
His face went blank.
Behind him, Avery made a sound that might have been a cough and might have been the death rattle of her composure.
Fenwick looked at the envelope. Then he glared at me and Max.
Max wagged his tail.
Fenwick’s nostrils flared, wolf-bright irritation flashing through his otherwise human face. “This is improper.”
“It’s not. We’re in a public place, you confirmed your identity, and I delivered the documents. You may want to contact counsel before making statements in a parking lot.”
The woman with the folding chairs whispered, “Damn.”
Fenwick looked like he might run anyway, which would have been incredible but unnecessary.
I smiled at him, polite and professional. “Have a good race day.”
Then I turned and walked away with Max at my side before my knees could start shaking.
Avery fell into step beside me, eyes bright. “That was the hottest legal thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m definitely sweating.”
“It was art.”
“It was mildly unhinged.”
She shrugged. “Isn’t all the best art?”
Max trotted between us, pleased with himself.
Once we reached Avery’s car, I leaned against the passenger door and let out the breath I had been holding.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Moira: DID YOU DO IT?
Alistair Fenwick was still standing there with the envelope in his hand, his race-day confidence gone flat.
Me: Served. Max requests hazard pay.
Then, because I could not help myself, I sent one more text to Rafe.
Me: Fenwick has been served. Your third-most intimidating team member did most of the work.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Then: Quinn.
Just my name.
Somehow, from Rafe, it contained an entire disciplinary hearing, a medical check, and one deeply inconvenient amount of concern.
I smiled down at my phone despite myself.
Avery saw it.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she said. “Again?”
I put the phone away. “No idea what you mean.”
Max sneezed.
Nobody believed me.